I have, no thanks to fretful felines, horrible hormones, and the release of a certain new gizmo that has caused my work load to pretty much quadruple, finished the first leg of research on Oregon geology. I feel very nearly prepared to say one or two intelligent things about some of the photographs I took.
Of course, now it's bedtime. And tomorrow, ye olde intrepid companion and I are off to the Museum of Flight to peruse some planes that are only in town for the weekend, followed by a trip to the Sound, which means a full report on that little adventure tomorrow night. So poor Karen shall be forced to wait until Tuesday for her nummy rocks. But I figured I'd better inform everyone that, really and truly, we're very nearly there!
And as an aside, let me just note that two weeks' intense study has definitely deepened my appreciation for the holiday photos I took. Now they're far more than just snaps of pretty places. I can glance even the most languid landscape over and say, "Yup. It looks peaceful now, but it was erupting ocean floor 30-60 million years ago, then it got drowned in mud, then it got booted out of the sea, then it was minding its own business when floods of lava poured all over it, and as if that wasn't enough, then it got hit with a flood that would've made Noah say, 'Shit, I think I need a bigger Ark.'"
When I first came up here, I was afraid geology would be boring. Flood basalts. Everywhere. And little baby rocks hardly more than a few handfuls of millions of years old. Yawn. Boy, was I ever wrong. Even the youngest whippersnappers are proving fascinating. Deep time is all well and good, but shallow time's got a lot to recommend it, too.
But before I can get to the geology, there's aircraft and sunshine and beaches to attend to. Besides, there's bound to be some geology lying around the beach, so maybe I'll be able to bring some back for all y'all.